Erin Gilbert: You Can Do This
by vendettadays
Summary: Drinking and dancing in the campus club on a Sunday night really wasn't Erin's thing. Drinking, dancing and being hit on by a strangely weird and wonderful woman with gravity-defying blonde hair? Well, that was something that could definitely become her thing. (Erin Gilbert/Jillian Holtzmann)


**A/N:** A year and seven months and finally something! And not a moment too late. Here's to a better 2017.

(Dancing: inspired by my colleagues at my work's Christmas party.)

* * *

Flashing lights cut through the smoke spewed out by fog machine spewed. The rhythmic thump of bass and whine of synthesised music. The masses of moving, sweaty bodies on the dance floor. This was so not the place that Erin wanted to be on a Sunday night, but she gritted her teeth and made herself as small and unobtrusive as she could on her stool at the farthest end of the bar. Hidden in a dark corner and far away from the dancing, grinding and bumping that came with being in the campus club that was full of young, twenty-somethings. And even farther from the flailing limbs and awkward gyrations of her colleagues from the Physics department at Columbia.

A nice, quiet evening in with a glass of red and her newest find from Amazon was what Erin had expected tonight. One reviewer had rated C. McFadden's new release _Ghosts: Friendly Phantasms or Malevolent Manifestations?_ five stars! But here she was: clutching her purse tightly in one hand and the other on a green cocktail of dubious edibility that had a sludge-like consistency.

Oh, she hated Abby right now. Convincing their colleagues to go clubbing on the weekend before the new semester started was the worst idea that Abby had ever come up with. It was even worse when her middle-aged and almost geriatric colleagues had agreed to go.

Let's go dancing! They said.

It will be fun! They said.

It was less dancing and more one-legged hopping and clapping, which was made all the more traumatising when the Head of Department had joined in. The image of Dr Filmore attempting to boogie with the kids had been seared permanently in her memories.

And of course, Abby had disappeared as soon as they had got into the club, saying something about a soup crisis before giving Erin a slow, dramatic wink. That had been an hour ago and she hadn't seen Abby since.

She stiffened as a large hulking man in a sleeveless shirt brushed against her, unknowingly wiping a sweaty arm on her tweed blazer. That was all the encouragement needed for her to down the rest of her drink, hoping the alcohol content was high enough to dull the trauma of being here. Erin's eyes watered and she doubled over, coughs wracking her body as the liquid singed her throat and settled uncomfortably in her empty stomach. The man moved away quickly as she fumbled for something to stop the burn. Someone passed her a bottle of water and she opened the bottle and drank it in two large gulps.

Erin gasped, slamming the empty bottle down. She cringed at the sight of herself in the mirror behind the bar. Her face was red and blotchy from coughing; her fringe stuck to her forehead and her hair was frizzy from the moist heat inside the Club. She looked like she had run a marathon without having done anything at all. She wanted to leave. No, she needed to leave. She looked over to her colleagues who were still bobbing along to the music under the flashing lights and sighed.

'Come here often?'

Erin jumped in her seat at the sultry voice that seemed to travel above the heavy bass line. To her right, two stools down sat a woman with gravity-defying, floppy blonde hair that looked perfectly coiffed and straight out of bed effortless all at the same time. Erin took in the worn leather jacket, paint-splattered overalls and Doc Martin clad feet propped up against a stool and concluded that this eccentrically attractive woman was not talking to her.

The woman's eyes were wide and unblinking in an unsettling stare that made Erin squirm in her seat. Erin checked behind, then to her left, even snuck a glance at the bartender pouring drinks in front of her before she realised that this woman with the slightly mad glimmer in her blue eyes was really talking to her. 'Oh, I'm sorry, who are you?'

The woman's grin grew, deepening the dimples above the corner of her lips as she stood up and sauntered the two steps to sit next to Erin, hand outstretched. 'Holtzmann.'

Erin grasped Holtzmann's fingers limply, eyes travelling from the yellow glasses resting on Holtzmann's head to her quirked lips, down the defined line of her jaw to the exposed hollow of her throat where Erin lingered a moment too long to be polite. She wrenched her gaze back up, face flushing with renewed heat from being caught checking out a complete stranger.

'Erin.' She let go of Holtzmann, but she didn't know what to do with her hands, which fluttered between clasping together and resting against the sticky bar top. She really needed something to hold onto. Her purse was forgotten on her lap.

'It's nice to meet you.'

'Yeah, nice to meet you too.'

They sat without talking as the music played around them in the club. Erin fiddled with her fingers, conscious of Holtzmann watching her. It was a relief when the bartender dropped by with another cocktail for her and a beer for Holtzmann.

'Cheers!' Holtzmann tapped her beer against Erin's glass and took a hearty pull. 'So you never answered my question.'

'My friend thought it would be a great idea to bring my colleagues here. They're academics, really top academics like really old academics, so no, I don't come here often. Actually, I don't really go out at all. I mean out to places like these not that I don't go out at all, because that would be some crazy agoraphobia, not that I'm saying that I am and, yeah, that's why I'm here...'

Heat crept along the back of Erin's neck, mortified that she had babbled about her lack of social like to a stranger. Foregoing her straw Erin drank her cocktail straight from the glass, avoiding Holtzmann and the way she seemed so at ease while all Erin felt was dizzying, discomfort. Though that might have been the alcohol.

'Academics are the best kind of people to let loose. Look at that guy in the sweater vest there: way too much teeth and hip thrusting, but that's his thing and he's loving it.'

Erin winced at the person Holtzmann had pointed out. Phil was a really unattractive dancer. 'It feels so wrong that I used to want to date him.'

'Whaaat?' Holtzmann's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. 'How'd that go? Was he too rigid?'

'It never really started in the first place. I went to lunch with him a few times and thought he liked me.' Erin waved down the bartender for a top up. 'Turns out he didn't and I only found out when he introduced me to his girlfriend. Surprise!'

'That's his loss, because I would date you.' Holtzmann seemed completely sincere and Erin wished that it were true. It wasn't like there was a line of people waiting to date her.

'You don't have to pretend to comfort me. It was a long time ago like it happened last week, so completely forgotten.'

Holtzmann raised an eyebrow.

'She's called Phyllis and specialises in astrophysics and cosmology. She has ten publications and is worshipped in her field.'

'Yeah, but Phyllis goes out with Phil and she probably dances like him.'

'She's probably great at dancing and better than me. She probably knows how to twerk.'

'I bet you're more of a hip-swaying type, rocking to your own beat. I can tell from the world's tiniest bow on your shirt and the heels you're wearing.' Holtzmann winked at Erin as she brought her beer to her lips.

'Thanks, I guess.' Erin blushed and finished her drink. She knew her clothes were too sexy for academia, but it felt good that Holtzmann seemed to think so too. She could do this: harmless flirting with a stranger. No one would have to know and if it ended in embarrassment, at least Abby wasn't around to watch that disaster.

That was until the glimmer in Holtzmann's eyes turned wild as the music changed and before Erin knew, she was pulled out of her seat and towards the dance floor with Holtzmann gripping her hand.

'What are you doing?'

'What do you think? You, me, an absolute classic song, get my drift?'

'No, no, I'm not dancing!' Erin shook her head, but Holtzmann grinned over her shoulder, weaving them in and out between people.

Erin threw her head back and laughed when they got to the dance floor as the lyrics started. It was the dorkiest thing that Erin had ever seen: Holtzmann pretending to hold a microphone, dancing up and down their three feet of unobstructed dance floor, miming the lyrics to DeBarge. Her laugh died in her throat when Holtzmann turned to her, long slow strides matching the cheesy 80s pop song as she sidled closer, hands out in front like she was pulling an imaginary rope.

Her body jolted as Holtzmann slid her hands onto Erin's waist and her nerves flared like they were on fire. Erin held her breath as Holtzmann's hands moved down to her hips and guided her hips in time to the music, moving Erin fluidly like she was an extension of her own body.

'See? Hip swaying. You've proved my hypothesis correct.'

'You're not so bad at this yourself.'

'I have Danish Art School to thank for that. I majored in experimental, 80s discotheque ballet with a minor in traditional fine art.'

'That explains the paints on your overalls.'

Holtzmann shrugged and moved Erin closer. 'Sure.'

The whisper of space between them got smaller as Erin found the courage to loop her arms around Holtzmann's neck. Her vision swam as they danced, but the only thing she could focus on was the way her skin tingled beneath her clothes from the close press of Holtzmann's body against hers and the tickle of Holtzmann's breath, hot against her neck. Erin's eye drifted to Holtzmann's mouth and, if the smirk was anything to go by, they were thinking the same thing.

Maybe it was the alcohol loosening her inhibitions. It was definitely the alcohol, because Erin Gilbert didn't do this. She didn't go to clubs and never went out on Sunday nights. She didn't get hit on by people and definitely not by strangely weird and wonderful-looking women that didn't seem to care that her go-to moves consisted of shoulder shrugs and feet tapping.

Erin tilted her head down and brushed her lips against Holtzmann's. God, they really were as soft as they looked. She played with the fine hairs at the back of Holtzmann's neck, teasing them between her fingertips as she deepened the kiss and brought them closer.

The grip on her shoulders tightened and she felt Holtzmann's lips move into a smile. She drew back breathless and elated that she had read the signs right.

She could do this.

* * *

Erin grabbed Holtzmann's jacket the moment the apartment door closed and pushed her against it. Her mouth missed Holtzmann's lips and landed on her cheek instead. Sober Erin would have been embarrassed, but with the way Holtzmann was tugging her shirt from where it was tucked into her skirt and the way Holtzmann kissed, messy and desperate, she really couldn't care.

She closed her eyes and released a shuddering breath as Holtzmann nipped along her jaw line, detouring with a brush of her lips against Erin's ear before she traversed down Erin's neck. Her breath caught in her throat and melted into a moan, as Holtzmann bit the skin between her shoulder and neck that it hurt. That was new. Intriguing. She slipped her thigh between Holtzmann's legs, delighting in the low groan that filled her ears and how Holtzmann surged forward and captured her in a hard kiss that sent a bolt straight to her gut.

Her tweed blazer ended up by the door as Holtzmann steered them both further into the apartment without breaking their kiss. Somewhere between Holtzmann losing her jacket and the straps of her overalls coming undone that it trailed along the carpeted floor, Erin kicked her heels off and buried her hands into Holtzmann's hair, loosening the pins that held her hair up.

Erin's back hit the wall behind her and she broke way from Holtzmann, lips swollen and breathing heavily as she tried to stop her head from spinning. One by one the buttons of her shirt were undone and the focused expression on Holtzmann's face got more manic with every inch of revealed skin. She bit her lip, almost breaking skin, unable to look away from Holtzmann's eyes as Holtzmann moved her hand, palm caressing Erin's ass as she reached round to the back of her skirt and slowly unzipped her skirt.

'You carry a lot of tension in your shoulders.' Her skirt fell to the floor.

'I get told that a lot.' Nimble fingers teased the edge of her underwear.

'I can help with that.'

Erin's mouth went dry when Holtzmann dropped to her knees, pulling her underwear down as she went. Holtzmann's lips grazed a path down her stomach, paying particular attention to the bump of her hip bone, nipping and sucking until an intense throbbing settled between her legs that needed more than the caress of Holtzmann's fingertips on the inside of her thigh.

'Is this okay?' Holtzmann lifted Erin's left leg and hooked it over her shoulder.

'Fuck, yes, this is more than okay.'

* * *

The slide of smooth sheets beneath her bare skin was the first thing Erin noticed as she woke up, followed by a dull headache and a delicious ache in her muscles that was not an everyday occurrence for her. Erin shot up from bed at the loud crash and muffled curse.

Erin's heart sank when she saw Holtzmann on the floor, halfway dressed, her overalls on and her head trapped inside her green, crop top.

'Damn shirt, where is the damn hole?' Holtzmann gasped for air as her head emerged from her crop top. 'Did I wake you?'

'No, no, I'm an early riser, early bird gets the worm and all that.'

'Erin?'

She covered her face with her comforter. She wasn't going to cry, nope, not going to cry. It was a one-night stand, not marriage. God, she was an idiot. Erin wheezed as she felt Holtzmann climb on top of her and covered her entire body, so that they mirrored. 'Holtzmann, I can't breath.'

Erin blinked as the comforter was lifted off her face. Holtzmann stared down at her, a severe frown on her brow and a downturned pout that was so out of place after last night's grins and smirks. She looked away to the side, but calloused fingertips lifted her chin up and she had no choice but to look at Holtzmann.

'I'm not sneaking out on you.'

'You're not?'

'Nope.' Holtzmann folded her arms on top of Erin's chest and rested her chin on her linked hands. 'I'm starting a new job today and they have "work hours", so I can't be late.'

'Oh, I see.'

Holtzmann lowered her voice and spoke in a slow, deep timbre that sounded frighteningly similar to Dr Filmore. 'I've been told that I am expected to arrive at work on time and not to besmirch the name of this fine institution.'

She made a face like keeping normal hours offended her. Erin laughed and the serious expression on Holtzmann's face disappeared, replaced by an easy-going smile.

'But that does mean that I have leave to get ready.' Holtzmann dropped a kiss on Erin's cheek and got up. She grabbed her leather jacket and mimed a telephone with her hand. 'Call me.'

'I don't have your number.' Erin sat up, blushing when her comforter slid down to reveal her naked chest. She quickly covered herself, but couldn't stop the smile on her face when she noticed how Holtzmann's eyes strayed. That was a confidence boost she had not been expecting on a Monday morning.

'Check. You definitely do.' Holtzmann gave her a two-finger salute and a final wink before walking out of the room.

The moment the door slammed shut, Erin jumped out of bed, pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that she had lying around and went looking for her cell. She checked for a new contact, but there was no new entry under 'H' or any other names that weren't the seven contacts that she already had. There were no scraps of paper in her blazer's pockets or in her bag with a hastily scribbled number. The magnetic notice board on her fridge sported a new radiation trefoil with a heart in the middle, but was devoid of digits.

Erin sat down on her couch and signed. She was about to congratulate herself on her stupidity, for falling for a line when she saw a black mark on the inside of her thigh, hidden just under the edge of her shorts.

* * *

'Where were you last night?' Abby threw her arms up as Erin walked into their shared, shoe box-sized office. 'I was waiting for you for you outside Zhu's!'

'Saying you have a soup crisis is not the same as telling me that you're leaving.'

'Uh, when do I ever have a soup crisis? I thought it would have been obvious.'

Erin rolled her eyes and unpacked her briefcase, shuffling papers into a neat pile and ignoring Abby. 'You have a problem with the Chinese place nearly every day.'

'Not every day, just most days and don't change the subject.' Abby sat down on the corner of Erin's desk with her arms crossed. 'Where were you last night?'

'I was at the club.'

'Seriously? I thought you'd gone home when you didn't turn up.'

'I did go home.' Erin focused on rearranging the pens on her desk, ordering them by brand, most used and size. She wasn't going to say it. No. Not going to say it – 'Eventually.'

'Eventually? Please don't tell me you left with Phil!'

'No! I didn't leave with Phil! And get off my desk!'

'Thank God! I heard that Phyllis has a mean right hook.' Abby sighed and settled more comfortably on Erin's desk. 'You look tired. What time did you leave anyway?'

'I didn't sleep very well.' Erin shrugged and ducked her head.

Liar. Complete lie. She had slept very well and had not slept enough. But Abby didn't need to know the in and out _how_ she how she hadn't slept enough.

'Okay and what time did you leave?'

'I left at a reasonable time on a Sunday evening.'

''That being?'

'Boss?' Kevin stuck his head into the room and Erin breathed out in relief. It wasn't over but to be continued from the look that Abby gave her. 'There's a Hillian Jolt Smann to see you.'

That must have been the new Engineer that the Kenneth P. Higgins Institute had loaned to Columbia. More like foisted onto Columbia and shoved into their tiny office, according to what Abby had told her, but they were happy to take this person. Apparently, there had been an incident. Something to with the unsanctioned use of plutonium, a really big centrifuge, and a blowtorch that had resulted in a comatose CERN employee who just so happened to have been a Columbia alumni.

It must have been bad if the Institute was able to blackmail Dr Filmore into taking on this Engineer.

'I'm going to need you to try a little harder Kev. It's Jillian Holtzmann.'

Erin's eyes widened at the name. No, it can't be? Life couldn't be this cruel. The back of her neck prickled as called the person in. There were probably tonnes of Holtzmanns out and it can't have been the Holtzmann she knew. They did different things.

'Are you okay? You're all sweaty.'

'I'm fine.' She fanned herself and took off her jacket.

Abby straightened up and Erin ducked behind her computer screen as the person walked in. She braced herself as Abby went through the introductions.

'And this.' Abby not-so-subtly kicked Erin's chair. 'This is Erin Gilbert. She's an expert on quantum physics.'

Erin peeked over the top of her computer screen like it was a parapet. There was a frown on Holtzman's face, but the moment she caught sight of Erin it disappeared, replaced by a wide smile. Holtzmann walked straight over to Erin's desk, hand held out like she had done last night and grasped Erin's tightly.

'Did you find it?' She could only nod, cheeks flushing.

'I-I thought you were an artist?'

'Nope, one-hundred percent engineer.'

'You know each other?' Abby looked between the Erin and Holtzmann.

'In the biblical sense.' Holtzmann winked and Abby squawked.

'You had sex! When? You have some explaining to do.'

Erin's mouth moved, but no sound came out as her cheeks heated. She was torn between unbearably aroused at the sight of Holtzmann biting her lip and wishing that the atoms of the floor would rearrange, so that it could swallow her whole.


End file.
